If You Really Hold Me Tight
by TolkienScholar
Summary: Oneshot. Angelina Johnson has had a long day - new box braids, a grueling Quidditch practice, and now a Transfiguration final to revise for. But when Fred and a very sick George turn up in the Common Room, her priorities quickly change. And naturally, fluff ensues. Christmas gift!fic for Angela (CinderellaAtTheBall).


**Disclaimer: **_**Harry Potter**_** is the property of J. K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended. The title is a line from the song "Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow!"**

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**MC4A Challenges:** PP; LL; SIN; ToS; BAON; FPC; VV; Cluster; ER; Shower; Fence; Star; AC; SHoE; SN; Share; Swap; TY; Ship; WinBingo; SSE  
**Individual Challenges:** Short Jog (N); New Fandom Smell (Y); Gryffindor MC (x4; N); Ethnic & Present (Y); Winter Wonderland (N); Clowder (Y); Tissue Warning (N); No Proof (N); Golden Times (N); Booger Breath (N); Rian-Russo Inversion (N)  
**Representations:** Angelina Johnson; Alicia Spinnet; George Weasley; Fred Weasley; Johnson Family; Weasley Family; Taking Care of Each Other; Single Motherhood; Weasley Twins Antics; Banter; Hogwarts; Final Exams; Quidditch; Pepper-Up Potion; Christmas Holiday; Hair Styling; Best Friends; Bullying; Referenced Emotional Abuse  
**Bonus Challenges:** Hot Stuff; Jack's Jollies; Second Verse (Uncivil Obedience, Under the Bridge, Where Angels Fear, Lyre Liar, Muck & Slime, Unwanted Advice, Nontraditional, Sneeze Weasel, Not a Lamp, Persistence Still); Chorus (Call Me Dantes, Larger Than Life, Fire Song, Mouth of Babes)  
**Tertiary Bonus Challenges:** SN (Rail, Intercept); SHoE (Sorority); AC (Tactile); TY (Enfant, Ntaiv)  
**Ship:** George Weasley/Angelina Johnson  
**List (Prompt): **Big List (Shared Blanket); Service Single Word Prompts (Blanket); Furniture (Red Overstuffed Couch)  
**Winter Bingo Space Address:** E1 (Kindness)  
**Receiver: **Angela (CinderellaAtTheBall)  
**Word Count:** 2392

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**A/N: Gift!Fic for Angela (CinderellaAtTheBall). Merry Christmas!**

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If You Really Hold Me Tight

"I swear Wood goes out of his way to set practice on the same day I get my hair done," Angelina grumbled. She inspected her new box braids in the bathroom mirror, starting with her edges and moving down the length. Tiny water droplets and shards of melting ice floated millimeters away from the tight braids, making a shimmering veil around her head. _Bless you, Mum, for teaching me that Impervius charm._ She refreshed the charm one more time before dragging her sopping Quidditch robe over her head and tossing it into the hamper.

"_I_ swear he does it when I have the least motivation," Alicia moaned from her bed. She'd collapsed onto it the second she'd gotten into the dormitory, careless of the water soaking into her bedclothes and puddling around her feet. "We haven't even got another match till after Christmas holiday; what was the big deal about getting in one more practice?"

"Because Wood knows y—most of the team won't practice at all over holiday, and he doesn't want us too out of shape when we get back." Angelina came out of the bathroom, toweling off her hair and trying not to let the icy water drip onto her bare shoulders. The driving sleet had soaked through even to her undergarments. She changed quickly, shivering as she hunted through her trunk for the warmest pyjamas she had.

"Don't know why you're sticking up for him," said Alicia, pushing herself up and examining the large wet spot she'd left on her sheets. "I saw the wheels turning while Wood was making us run that screen twenty times. I know you were dreaming up ways to hex him."

Angelina grinned. "Actually, I was imagining _him_ sitting on the floor of the girls' bathroom getting his hair yanked on for six hours. I was thinking cornrows would suit him; what do you think?"

Alicia flung back her head and laughed. "Yes, definitely! Nice and tight, like you had that one time when you could hardly move your face."

"Yeah, and then _he_ has to suffer through a two-hour practice in the—Oh, it was sleeting that time, too, wasn't it?"

"It was, and he wouldn't let you stop, even though you were freaking out because you were afraid it was going to pull your hair out. You and Katie and I stayed up another couple of hours after that awful practice taking your hair down. I've never let Wood forget it."

"Thank you." Angelina looked longingly at her bed, which looked terribly warm and inviting. It was ten o'clock already, and she had an exam at eight thirty tomorrow morning. That, however, was exactly why she _couldn't_ go to bed just yet. With a sigh, she grabbed her bookbag and dug out her Transfiguration notes.

"Oh, come on, Ange, you're not planning to spend all night revising after a practice like that, are you?"

"You know my Mum. Quidditch can't interfere with my marks, or else I won't be allowed to play at all. Your parents—"

"Screw my parents," Alicia said with a scowl. "Who cares what they think?"

Angelina winced. She knew the situation with Alicia's parents, but she still hated to hear her talk about them that way. "Come on, you ought to at least put in an hour or two. We can work together."

"What difference would it make? I'll always be a failure to Mum because I'm not planning to be some boring Muggle doctor like her, and Dad's got his precious Kareena the Auror to be proud of. He can go on pretending he's only got the one daughter for all I care."

"Oh, Lish…"

"What? It's the truth. No use sugarcoating it." Alicia got up, grabbed a semi-clean towel off one of her bedposts, and headed for the bathroom. "I'm going to get a shower. You go get that O, genius." She turned and offered a half-hearted smile, and Angelina tried to return it. Then the bathroom door closed behind her.

Sighing, Angelina grabbed her bookbag and a blanket and headed for the Common Room. Her best friend's marks and her fractured relationship with her parents were both problems Angelina had been trying to tackle for as long as the two had known each other, though she'd made little progress with either. She wasn't one to admit defeat, ever, but there didn't seem to be much use in carrying on the fight any more tonight.

The Common Room was unusually quiet. Some students had already finished all their finals and gone home; others were probably in their rooms, revising or packing or sleeping. Angelina nodded at a couple of second-year girls fretting over Charms in the corner and slipped past a seventh-year boy asleep with his head on an Arithmancy textbook, then settled onto a red overstuffed sofa in front of the fire. She groaned with pleasure as she sank into the cushions, her aching muscles grateful to be able to relax at last. With the fleece blanket on top of her, she finally felt warm for the first time in hours. _This was not a good idea,_ she thought as she pulled her bookbag up onto the sofa. She got about five minutes of revising in before drowsiness claimed her.

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"Easy there. One step at a time."

"I know how to go down the bloody stairs, Fred."

There was a soft thump, followed by sounds of frantic scrambling. Angelina stirred lightly, only dimly aware of what was going on.

"You were saying, George?"

"Oh, lay off. It's this bloody blanket."

"Better watch your language, or I'm going to tell Mum on you."

"Go to h—"

There were several more thumps, much louder than the first, followed by a deafening crash. Angelina startled awake and leaped to her feet, her sore muscles screaming in protest. The commotion had come from the direction of the boys' dormitory, and she turned to see Fred and George Weasley, along with a large fleece blanket, lying in a tangled heap at the bottom of the stairs.

"I told you to watch out—"

"_I_ told _you_ the blanket was in the way—"

"Well, if you hadn't—"

Fred broke off as George went into a horrible coughing fit. He pounded his brother on the back, which did exactly nothing to help. Shaking her head, Angelina hurried over. "Oy, Fred, out of the way," she said, pushing his hand aside before he could give his twin a bruise on top of everything else. She rubbed George's back gently. "Easy, George, breathe. You're okay."

The coughing finally subsided, and George slumped back against the stairs. "Thanks, Angie," he said hoarsely.

"Anytime. You all right?"

"Yeah, think I'm just coming down with something."

"No kidding. What's with the blanket?"

Fred was picking up the blanket and tucking it around his brother's shoulders. "He hasn't been able to quit shivering since we got in from practice. I thought he should come sit by the fire, see if we could get him warmed up that way." He hopped up. "Care to help?"

"For sure," Angelina replied. "If you'll help me up first."

Fred offered her a hand. "Practice get you that bad?"

She shook her head as he helped her to her feet. "Hair day. Thanks for noticing."

"I noticed," said George quietly.

Smiling and blushing, Angelina helped Fred haul George to his feet. He _was_ shivering, so badly he probably wouldn't have been able to walk straight without their guiding him. They got him over to the sofa and settled him down next to where Angelina had been sitting. She sat beside him and laid a hand against his forehead. "Oy, George, you're burning up." She turned to Fred. "Was he already getting sick before practice?"

"Think so, but it wasn't this bad. Just one more thing to rib Wood about later, eh?"

"Yeah." She tucked the blanket around George and then put her own on top for good measure. "Have you gone to Madam Pomfrey? I'm sure she could give you some Pepper-Up Potion."

"Can't," said George. "We're both allergic to the—What is it, Fred?"

"The—The stuff in it that does the—"

"The something or other root, wasn't it?"

"No, I think it was the other thing…"

"I get it, you're allergic to Pepper-Up," said Angelina, shaking her head in exasperation. "Well, what are we going to do with you, George?"

"If he can just make it till tomorrow afternoon, we'll be able to go home, and Mum'll fix him up all right," said Fred. "But we've got two finals to get through first, not that it matters much…"

"Speak for yourself," George croaked, and Angelina laughed.

"Well, in the meantime," she said, "I guess we'll just have to get him to stop shivering and then try to get the fever down. Fred, go get a wet washcloth to put on his forehead—cool, but not too cold—and I'll try to warm him up."

Fred bounded up and headed for the stairs. Before he reached the top step, something occurred to her, and she called after him, "Make sure it's a clean one!" Fred gave an offended huff and disappeared into the boys' dormitory.

George laughed, which immediately turned into another coughing fit. Helplessly, Angelina watched as the coughs and shivers wracked his body. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay." She wrapped an arm around him and held him until the fit eased. He leaned against her, exhausted. His forehead against her cheek was burning.

Gently, she lifted the edge of the blankets and slid under them, hoping her body heat trapped under the covers with him might help to stop the shivering. They really needed to be cooling him off—even his hands under the blankets felt hot—but as long as he kept shivering, that fever wasn't coming down. She pulled him against her and rubbed his arm.

"What could be keeping Fred?"

"Probably can't find a clean washcloth," George joked, and nearly went into another coughing fit.

"Hush, stop that. Can't you turn off the funny for a few minutes?"

"Don't know how."

"Well, try." She stroked the side of his face gently. Man, he was hot.

"Ange, you shouldn't be so close. I'll get you sick."

"I think I'll survive. You've got a cold; you're not dying of tuberculosis."

"Are you so sure?" he said, grinning weakly. "Maybe I am. Maybe I've only got moments left to live!" He flung his arm across the sofa in a dramatic swoon. "Fred, help me, I'm dying!"

Fred's head appeared over the back of the sofa, and he studied his brother unconcernedly. "Hmm, well done, Ange. Say, did you make sure he put us both in the will before you did him in?"

"No," she tossed back, rolling her eyes, "I had him write you out."

"Outrageous!" Fred cried. "I shall sue!"

"I'll sue _you_ for criminal neglect if you don't give me that washcloth, you idiot." She reached for it, and he dropped it into her hand. Not trusting him, she held it up to her nose, but it smelled reasonably clean, and the temperature was all right. She folded it over and laid it across George's burning forehead.

"Did I do okay?" Fred asked.

"Surprisingly, yes. I'll give you an E for Exceeds Expectations."

"Capital!" He dropped over the edge of the sofa on the other side of his twin. "Here, Angie, give over some blankets. We'll make a George sandwich." He gave the top blanket a tug, and she let him pull it so that she and Fred were each under one blanket and George was under both. His shivering, she noted with relief, seemed to have calmed down a little.

"So, Angie, any marvelous plans for Christmas holiday?" Fred asked.

"Yes, _not_ practicing Quidditch for two hours in driving sleet after sitting getting my hair done all day." Her aching muscles, briefly forgotten in her concern over George, were making themselves felt again, quite insistently.

"It looks nice," George said huskily. "Was it really rough this time?"

Angelina looked away, blushing again. "I've had worse. It's not too tight anyway, that's the main thing."

"You didn't get rid of the dreads because of Parkinson, did you? Because you know she's just jealous of you. No one cares what she thinks, no one who matters anyway…"

Angelina's blush spread all the way to the tips of her ears. "Parkinson? Not on your life. I wouldn't care what Parkinson thought about my hair if she were the chief fashion consultant for _Witches Weekly_."

"Good," said George with a smile so innocent it melted her heart, and Fred echoed the sentiment. She wouldn't for the world have told them that she hadn't been able to get Pansy's "worms" comment out of her head for weeks, or that she'd only kept the dreads so long because she couldn't justify wasting the money her Mum had paid to get them put in. If the boys knew, they'd probably jump up this second and go hex Pansy Parkinson in her bed. _What did I ever do to deserve these two?_

Gradually, George's shivering subsided, and they were able to ease off the blankets and work on getting his temperature down. He fell asleep sometime around one o'clock in the morning, and rather than try to get him up to bed, Fred and Angelina decided to make a night of it on the sofa and brave the Transfiguration final all together in the morning, prepared or unprepared as they were. Fred summoned an ottoman and a couple of pillows, and they made quite a cozy nest. As they were settling in, Fred whispered, "Hey, Ange?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for helping me take care of George. Don't know how I would have managed without you."

"Oh, I know. You two would be helpless if I wasn't around."

Fred chuckled softly. "You're joking, but you're not wrong. Hey, give our love to your Mum, all right?"

"Of course. Give my love to yours."

"Always. Hey, I know you've got your own family to celebrate with, but if you and your Mum wanted to come drop by the Burrow for a few days over holiday, you'd be more than welcome, you know that, right?"

Angelina smiled. "Sure. I'll talk to Mum and let you know."

"All right."

And with that they both dropped off to sleep.


End file.
